


make a wish

by akaiiko



Series: what you carry with you [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, In an AU Where S8 (Voltron) Wasn't a Dumpster Fire, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: Today is Keith's birthday.A decade back—when he was fifteen and so angry he could die from it—he never could’ve imagined a day like this. What it would be like to have his life so full of good that he barely knows how to handle it. How it would feel to be loved.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: what you carry with you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943482
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	make a wish

**Author's Note:**

> written for keith's birthday back in 2019 on twitter. now it lives here.
> 
> part of a larger au that one day i will post the main story for, but all you really need to know is that sheith are married with two accidentally adopted galra kids. this is grotesquely fluffy. i will not be accepting criticism at this time.

Today, as most days, Keith wakes up in a too-crowded bed. It’s a sharp divide between asleep and awake—but he comes alert without moving a muscle, careful not to disturb the precarious balance of all the bodies crammed onto the narrow double cot.

Rakvi’s tucked into his chest, her body rumbling with the purring snores she only lets out when she’s really content. Both her hands are balled up in fists. One beneath her chin, and one tangled in his sleep shirt. Somehow she’s managed to wrap her tail not once but _twice_ around his wrist. Just in case he thought he could stop cuddling her.

The wolf’s managed to cover the bottom half of the bed and crushed Keith’s legs in the process. Literally. There’s no feeling left in his legs, just the faint sensation of fur tickling his skin. Whenever the wolf twitches, paws scrabbling at air, the cot lets out a warning creak. It’s a fucking miracle they haven’t broken this bed yet.

Lolling his head carefully where it rests on his mate’s thigh—their _actual_ pillows are probably somewhere on the floor—he looks up at Shiro. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.” The dim blue nightlights of their ship reflect off the blunt angles of Shiro’s face. He’s smiling—that one dopey smile he only gets when he’s entirely content—and he uses his free hand to brush back Keith’s bangs.

Keith leans into the touch, closing his eyes briefly as a smile tips his own lips. “You’re the one with the baby,” he says.

“That your way of saying you want Akaxa?”

Yes. Obviously. Keith wiggles into a more upright position—still leaning heavily against Shiro—and lifts his free arm in a demanding gesture. With a low rumble of laughter, Shiro shifts their kit from where the crook of his arm into the warm hollow of Keith’s chest. Akaxa settles in with a sleepy mewl.

“There,” Shiro says. “Your turn to be drooled on.”

Akaxa’s always drooling, his newly grown fangs making it difficult for him to close his mouth properly. Teething had been an awful few months. It’s cute now. Even with the drool.

“Yeah, my turn to be drooled on,” Keith says. His arms are heavy with the two kits, with their lax bodies and their easy trust. Quietly he nuzzles into the downy fur at the top of their heads. Breathes in the scent of family—of his mate, and his kits, and his wolf—that fills the small room and smaller cot.

Shiro presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head as he wraps arm around Keith’s shoulders. It makes the press of their bodies easier. More intimate. And it takes some of the strain of Keith’s spine, which is probably for the best.

“The comms been going off for the last hour,” he says. “Your mom apparently ditched the Daibazaal delegation to Kythax. She’ll meet us on Earth by this evening and expects us to spend a least a week planetside so she can see her grandkits.”

“Mom sent all of that?”

Another low laugh. “No. Kolivan did. Your mom stole him from the delegation too.”

Closing his eyes, Keith turns his head to bury his face against Shiro’s neck. “Oh no.” Krolia is bad enough, doting on the kits with an almost terrifying fervor, but Kolivan is somehow worse. Especially with Rakvi. Last time they left Kolivan and Rakvi alone, Kolivan _bought her a pet klanmurl_.

“There’s messages from the other Paladins too.” Shiro’s thumb rubs comforting circles on Keith’s shoulder. Between the warm solidity of his body and the steady rumble of his voice, it’d be easy to fall back asleep. “And Romelle.”

“How many messages did she send this time?”

“Ninety-four.”

Shaking with silent laughter, Keith thinks of all the messages waiting on the comms for him to respond to. Of the ‘surprise’ party waiting for him when they reach Earth. Of his mom, and his kits, and his mate. Of how all of this is normal, now, just like his too-full bed.

“I’m happy,” he says. Like a surprise. Like a secret. Like something he doesn’t know what to do with. “I’m so happy.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be. Akaxa’s managed to drool a wet spot onto his sleep shirt, which will pair nicely with the holes Rakvi tore in it with her claws. The wolf’s still crushing his lower legs. It’s probable that the bed is going to break if any of them move too suddenly. But fuck, he’s so happy.

When Shiro tips his face up, he goes easy and sweet. Lets his mate muffle his helpless giggles with breath stealing kisses. Their lips are chapped from the recycled air of the ship, and they’ve both got morning breath, but kissing like this feels intimate. Familiar. Safe. Keith melts into Shiro, into his strength and tenderness and devotion.

A decade back—when he was fifteen and so angry he could die from it—he never could’ve imagined a day like this. What it would be like to have his life so full of good that he barely knows how to handle it. How it would feel to be loved.

“Gross,” Rakvi announces. She flails a little trying to right herself and knees Keith in the solar plexus in the process. Unbothered, she shoves her way between them. “Good morning, Da.” As always, she headbutts against Keith’s chin, like a cat marking her territory.

“Morning, Rakvi,” he says, tweaking her left ear. It’s the tattered one, but she likes the soft touch because it covers over worse memories. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good.” Without giving him a chance to reply, she turns on Shiro and starts babbling in the Arena dialect of Galra. It sounds like a scolding. Sure enough, his mate holds up a hand in surrender. Ravki switches back to English seamlessly. “Stay in bed, Da. Papa and I are making breakfast.”

Keith turns toward Shiro with a raised eyebrow. Neither of them can be trusted in a kitchen. _Don’t worry,_ Shiro mouths. Which probably means he bought something pre-made. Good. Keith doesn’t want to die in space because of a cooking accident.

Turning back to Rakvi’s small and too serious face, Keith gives her a grin and another ear tweak. “Of course, little blade. I’ll stay here with Akaxa.” Who’s still asleep but has taken to sucking on Keith’s shirt, which will mean more holes, but the shirt’s already a lost cause. “Go make breakfast with your Papa.”

Rakvi bounces off his lap with bruising force. “C’mon, Papa,” she yells. Its hard to see the half-feral child she used to be in the carefree bright girl she is now. Keith’s so grateful for that.

“I’m coming, Rakvi,” Shiro calls. Winces when he gets another burst of Arena chatter from the other room. “We’re raising a bossy child.”

“Mm.”

It takes a minute for Shiro to get out of bed. He’s more careful as he disentangles himself. Once he’s standing, he turns back and cups Keith’s jaw again. Brings their lips together in a lingering kiss. Keith lets his eyes slip closed and feels his lips curve into a smile. When Shiro pulls back, it’s just to murmur, “I love you.” 

“Pa _pa_ ,” Rakvi yells again.

Quirking his lips into a bemused smile, Shiro straightens and heads for the doorway. Pausing briefly with a hand on the doorframe, he says, “Happy birthday, baby.”

A crash comes from somewhere in the brig. Both their eyes go wide before Shiro bolts toward where their kit is raising hell. “Rakvi, you know you’re not allowed to—” The scold switches into the Arena dialect, and there’s a shrieking giggle that tells Keith his mate caught up with their kit.

With a quiet laugh, Keith settles back against the wall and nuzzles into Akaxa’s fur. The little kit smells milk sweet. Kissing the top of his head elicits a sleepy mew and little hands kneading at Keith’s chest. “Shh, kit, I’ve got you,” he promises. Akaxa settles at the sound of his voice, and something aches raw & sweet in his heart.

No, he couldn't have imagined this. Couldn't have even thought to wish for it. If he could go back to his younger self—the one who got a generic unsigned card from a tired social worker on his 15th birthday—he'd say that. _You'll get so much more than you could wish for._

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i write shit like this on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaiikowrites).


End file.
